


Lunatic Fringe

by CarryOn



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Comfort/Drama, Gen, Hurt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-10-23
Updated: 2010-10-23
Packaged: 2017-10-12 20:13:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 16,716
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/128607
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CarryOn/pseuds/CarryOn
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Episode 1.17. The stress of fighting the apocalypse, dealing with his new ability, and trying to keep Sam safe are beginning to take a toll on Dean. Add to that both a geographically and emotionally unstable town and you have a recipe for disaster.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Carry On...a Supernatural Virtual Season

Episode 17: Lunatic Fringe

Authors: Bayre and sendintheclowns

Disclaimer: We don't own Supernatural or it's characters, basically any characters familiar from the show. They are properties of the WB, CW and Eric Kripke.

A/N: Carry On...A Supernatural Virtual Season picks up at the end of All Hell Breaks Loose part one and then ventures on with a what if scenario that takes the Winchester brothers through heaven and hell while fighting to save the remnants of their splintered family. See our bio page for more information.

Episode Summary: The stress of fighting the apocalypse, dealing with his new ability, and trying to keep Sam safe are beginning to take a toll on Dean. Add to that both a geographically and emotionally unstable town and you have a recipe for disaster.

PART ONE

Sam was having a hard time watching Dean shift in the driver's seat, misery scrolled across his face. When Sam had asked how Dean was feeling a half an hour ago, he'd gotten snapped at for his troubles.

A hurting Dean was a pain in the neck. He wouldn't accept help and he wouldn't admit there was a problem, either.

When Dean's stomach began to grumble noisily, Sam waited for Dean to pull off the interstate and hit one of the diners or restaurants advertized along the roadside. When Dean continued on, despite the hellacious racket his stomach was making, Sam took action.

Running a hand through his hair, Sam said, "I think my blood sugar is getting low or something. Could we please find a restaurant or even a gas station?"

Dean shot him a look of annoyance but when he saw the woe-be-gone expression Sam forced his features into, he complied. Sam disliked playing the pathetic little brother card but if he wanted to find out what was bugging Dean, he wasn't above pulling out all of the stops.

Soon they pulled into a BP station. Dean got out and reached for the gas pump, sliding a debit card for one Wile E. Coyote out of his pocket. "Why don't you restock us? I'll take a Mountain Dew and a bag of chips."

By chips, Dean meant barbecue chips and with the way he was subconsciously rubbing the apex of his stomach, Sam knew that was the last thing his brother needed. Not that he was going to tell Dean that.

Nodding his agreement he headed inside the convenience store, bypassing the aisles of junk food. Instead he went to the dairy case and grabbed a couple of yogurts. Dean ate nothing but crap; it certainly wouldn't hurt him to eat something with nutritional value. That and yogurt was pretty easy on the stomach. Sam hadn't figured out if Dean had a virus or something more malicious but if he could keep the yogurt down, they could stop for something light in a while. Assuming Sam could get his older brother to eat what he considered tasteless swill.

Sam paid for the purchases, eschewing Mountain Dew in favor of bottled green tea for both of them, before walking to the car slowly. Dean was sitting in the driver's seat, his hands tapping a ragged beat on the steering wheel. Sam handed him the bag with yogurt, spoons and drinks through the window. "I'm going to hit the head. Be right back."

Not sticking around to see Dean's reaction to his purchases, Sam hustled away. He was pleasantly surprised to find Dean shoveling yogurt into his mouth when he returned to the car which was idling in front of the convenience store.

Dean's face, however, didn't look pleasantly surprised. "Are you trying to kill me, Sammy? What is this crap? White slime? And I asked for Mountain Dew, not this green piss water."

If Dean genuinely didn't want to eat or drink what Sam had brought back, he would have high-tailed it into the store and gotten whatever the hell he wanted. Instead he sat slumped in the seat, face puckered into a deep frown as he spooned the slippery white substance into his mouth. Sam grabbed his own carton and a spoon. "It's called yogurt and it's good for you. You know, if you occasionally ingested food your body could actually use instead of all the chemicals and artificial flavorings you insist on pumping into it, you might feel better. Anyway, we can stop for real food whenever you want."

It was a testament to just how poorly Dean felt that his only response was a middle finger jabbed in Sam's general direction as he swallowed down the yogurt. Dean's hand ghosted over his stomach, rubbing in a circle, confirming the problem Sam had been suspecting all morning.

Sam bit down on the inside of his cheek to keep from commenting further as Dean wheeled the black car back on to the road, heading for the interstate. It didn't work. "You know it's not like we're in a rush. We could pull over, find a motel or something."

"Let's just keep going. I'm not too keen to stop in the middle of the Illinois flatlands. I've never seen terrain that was so…flat." Dean's voice held an edge of whine but Sam knew better than to argue with him. Instead he finished his yogurt, swallowed the green tea, and winced as the bright sunlight bounced off the hood of the car and reflected straight into his face.

Straight into Dean's face, too. That on top of Dean's stomach problems had to suck. Maybe Sam could ease his brother's burden just a little. "You want me to drive for a while?" It was the least Sam could do. He knew it wasn't likely Dean would surrender control of the Impala but it didn't hurt to ask.

The whine flared into pissiness. "Why don't you just take a nap or something. You're getting on my last nerve."

Yep, when Dean didn't feel good it wasn't a mystery. Sam didn't want to aggravate him anymore so he leaned his head against the passenger side window and closed his eyes. A nap didn't sound like such a bad idea.

Sam must have drifted off because the next thing he became aware of was a moan from next to him. Shit. Dean was getting worse. His pig-headed brother was never going to admit he was in pain, not in front of Sam. Sam didn't understand the machismo involved in that behavior but Dean had been like that as long as Sam could remember.

It was up to Sam to get them off the road and hopefully get Dean some help. Rest, medicine, even a doctor if needed. A sign for an upcoming town flashed by the side of the road. Utica. Population 977. Not exactly a hotbed of activity but if Sam was right, Dean needed some rest, not excitement. "Can we pull off at Utica?"

Sam turned in time to see Dean's nostrils flare in either pain or annoyance. "Why would I want to stop in Utica?"

Taking a calming breath, Sam pushed forward. "I'm sure it has a library and internet. We're not on our way to a job so I'd like to pull off, get a room and do some research."

Dean was trotting out all of his mulish tendencies. "We're about ninety minutes from Chicago. Or the Quad Cities. I'll take either of those over Utica. Can't you wait?"

Sam could wait but Sam wasn't sure Dean could, not with the way sweat was collecting above his upper lip and the green-tinged pallor was creeping over his skin. But Dean wouldn't stop for himself. No. He was going to make Sam force him to stop.

Rubbing his forehead, Sam grimaced. He didn't enjoy lying to his brother but sometimes it was for the greater good. "I've kinda got a headache that just won't quit. I was hoping…"

"Shit, Sam, you should have said something earlier. I'll get us a room. You don't think it's a vision, do you?" The concern in his brother's voice was apparent and it made Sam feel like a heel for the deception. But he'd asked Dean to stop earlier and it hadn't worked. A gas station wasn't really stopping. So it was on with the farce.

"I don't know. I don't think so. Thanks, Dean." Sam forced the last into a whisper, just to make himself sound as pathetic as possible.

Dean patted Sam's arm before tightening his grip on the steering wheel. "Hang in there, I'll find us a place to stay. Assuming there's something in this Podunk town."

Sam sighed. Dean probably misinterpreted it as a sigh of relief that his head was going to get a break from the glare of the drive. Which was actually the truth now that Sam thought about it. And the veins in his temples were throbbing. He did have a headache and it was getting more painful by the minute.

They were both burnt out between their life style and their 'gifts.' A break would do them good.

-0-

Sam squirmed restlessly in his seat as Dean sought a motel. The pickings were pretty slim. The sign for Grizzly Jack's Grand Bear Resort showed too many amenities bumping out of their price range. Starved Rock Lodge and Conference Center sounded like there could be business men running around in suits, getting drunk and being obnoxious. Not what Sam's head needed. That left The Willows, a quaint boutique hotel quietly nestled in historic Utica, Illinois.

Dean snorted. Historic. The place definitely looked like a page right out of history. The boutique part sounded scary but hopefully the shoppers were quiet.

Every once in a while Sam would rub the side of his head which reaffirmed for Dean that stopping was a good thing. He navigated the Impala down the central drag and parked the car in front of The Willows, a three story hotel made of brick, brick and more brick. He wished they'd made it to Chicago. Deep dish pizza. With extra cheese and pepperoni. Lots of pepperoni.

A sharp, biting pain hit him in the mid section and it took everything Dean had not to gasp. Sam shot him a look but quickly dug the heel of his hand into an eye. The kid was definitely in distress. That made two of them. Although Dean didn't want Sam to know about it; it was Dean's job to take care of Sam, not the other way around.

They both shook the road off, rotating necks and stretching, as they exited the Impala. In sync, they headed for the main entrance. They had just entered the building when the flooring seemed to roll beneath their feet.

Dean grabbed Sam's arm to steady him as Sam muttered, "Earthquake."

With a strong jolt the motion ended. Dean released his grip on Sam's arm, patting him on the shoulder. "We're in Illinois, Sam, not California. I doubt that that was an earthquake."

Two women were behind a graceful green marble counter. The younger, perkier blond, batted her eyelashes at Dean. "Did you feel that one?"

"Please, Margie, let's not get carried away. You know earthquakes, although not common, do happen from time to time here." The older woman patted a stray dark hair back into place.

Sam, ever the geek boy when it came to learning new things, piped up. "I guess I forgot about the fault line here. The New Madrid, right?"

The more mature looking woman positively sparkled at Dean's brother. With a full smile and twinkling eyes, she didn't look so matronly anymore. And her full attention was on Sam. "Why yes. That's right. It doesn't get nearly the press as the San Andreas Fault but I'll have you know in 1811 and 1812, it made its presence known. A magnitude 8.0 earthquake, in fact."

Dean allowed Sam and Laura to geek out while he booked a room from Margie. She smiled slyly, her eyes darting between Dean and Sam, when he requested one room with double beds. "We're brothers."

"Oh." The blond sounded disappointed. Dean didn't understand why people—make that women—tended to assume two guys traveling together were gay. Whatever. His stomach was slowly flipping, much like the shake-rattle-and-roll of the earlier temblor, and Dean just wanted to get settled.

They made it to their room, a nicer room than they were accustomed to lately. There was a leather couch and a fireplace and the beds looked comfortable. Dean slung his bag on one of the beds while Sam set his on a chair. When Sam rolled his neck, his face contorting in pain, Dean pushed Sam back, guiding him to a seat on the bed. "I'll get you something for your headache. Why don't you stretch out for a while?"

Sam didn't argue. He didn't say anything. He just toed off his shoes and swung his legs up on to the blue shiny comforter. The kid was so tall he had to lay on an angle to fit but by the time Dean returned with some generic Aleve and water, Sam looked settled in. With a twist of the lips which could have been gratitude, Sam levered up on an elbow and murmured his thanks before downing the pills and water. He sunk back with a stifled groan which Dean took as dismissal.

After closing the blinds in the room, Dean returned to the bathroom, filling the glass and helping himself to the pain reliever. Every once in a while it felt as though someone was socking him in the gut. He wouldn't admit it, but he was beginning to wonder if Sam was right about his diet. This was unlike any heartburn he'd ever had before) He'd chewed up the last of his Rolaids while Sam was in the convenience store. He should have gotten some more but he'd lacked the energy to move. Since it didn't work, hadn't worked maybe the pain reliever would do the trick.

He returned to find Sam breathing deeply. Grabbing the laptop, Dean moved to the couch. He checked his email and when nothing grabbed his attention, he pulled up a search engine. He wanted to read about this New Madrid fault line. Apparently Sam wasn't the only geek in the family. There was something kind of cool about earthquakes and the Midwest.

He'd barely gotten anywhere when his stomach jumped. Dean was on his feet and flying for the bathroom, recognizing the impending purge. Stumbling into the bathroom he flicked on the lights and fan, hoping he wouldn't wake up Sam. His brother had his own pain to deal with and the last thing Dean wanted was an audience.

Flipping up the toilet seat, Dean leaned over and heaved. He'd had that crappy yogurt Sam had pressed on him about three hours ago and that was it. So why was his stomach turning inside out over such a measly meal? Maybe the yogurt had been bad.

When it was all said and done, Dean was kneeling before the porcelain goddess, the horrific noises of his efforts echoing in the bathroom. He rose jerkily to his feet after flushing, his mouth filling; for a moment Dean thought he was going to repeat his previous experience but a thick rope of saliva was the only substance he spit out in the sink. Cupping his hands, he splashed cold water on his face, letting it dribble down the back of his neck. He scooped the water into his mouth but leery of sending anything his stomach's way, he merely rinsed and spit.

Toweling off, Dean stared into the mirror. He looked like crap. No wonder Sam had been shooting him looks all day. It must be some stomach bug. He hoped Sam wouldn't catch it; Sam was a total wimp when it came to this kind of stuff. Unlike Dean who could suck it up.

Dean picked his way back to the laptop, pleased that Sam still seemed to be out. He was on his side, hand curled under his cheek. When he was sleeping, Sam managed to look vulnerable despite his massive 6'4'' frame.

That was one of the many reasons Dean didn't need Sam hounding him about being sick. Sam had enough on his plate.

-0-

Sam had dropped off to sleep relatively easily. Strange noises filtered into his dream; a dinosaur calling to another, plaintive and lonely.

Rolling on his side, Sam tried to recapture the drowsy feeling of a moment ago but when the distant noise sounded again, jarring him further from his rest, he gave up. Sitting up, Sam listened carefully. A muted light shown through the small crack between the bathroom door and the carpet. Dean was in the bathroom. Vomiting.

Damn. Sam had hoped his brother could avoid this. Despite trying not to overhear as Dean tossed his cookies, Sam was impressed with the violence of the act. Dean definitely had something and Sam was beginning to think it wasn't the flu.

When the toilet flushed followed by the water in the sink, Sam plumped the pillow and settled back on his side. He wished he could confront Dean with the knowledge that he was feeling subpar but from experience, Sam knew that wasn't the way to go. He needed to approach this from an oblique angle instead of straight on.

Sam waited as long as he could before sitting up so that Dean wouldn't feel ambushed. He visited the bathroom, rinsing his face and brushing his teeth. When he emerged, Dean's low voice greeted him from the couch. "Hey, Sam. How's the head?"

It frustrated Sam that Dean could openly show his concern but Sam had to be stealthy about it. "Better. Find anything?"

Dean's color was still awful but maybe the light coming from the faux Tiffany lamp had something to do with that. His brother's eyes did have a certain sparkle though. "Listen to this. I checked into the New Madrid fault line. The chick at the desk was right. Remember how she said that earthquake in 1812 was so strong? Well it was strong enough that a stream was stopped up and enclosed to form a lake, the Mississippi changed its course and some of the rivers even ran backward for a while."

Sam sat on the other end of the couch. As fascinating as he found geography, he was more interested in Dean's health at the moment. "Can I see that for a moment?"

Hugging the laptop closer, Dean shook his head no. "Keep your pants on. I'm not done yet. Supposedly church bells rang in Boston from the force of the quake, sidewalks in Washington DC cracked and chimneys in Maine toppled over. Kind of sounds apocalyptic, don't you think? I thought I'd see if there are any seals related to this kind of thing."

Sam shivered. It did sound apocalyptic.

His stomach chose that moment to growl and Sam realized he'd only had a container of yogurt all day. So had Dean for that matter. Maybe the battle of the laptop could wait. "I thought I'd pop downstairs, find out where there's a restaurant nearby, and bring back some food." Sam paused to study Dean's washed out complexion. "Can I see the laptop for two minutes and then I'll go on the food run?"

Dean rolled his eyes but complied, grumbling, "Just don't screw with any of my research there, capisce?"

Sam quickly sought the link he wanted, typing ulcers in the Web MD search field. He scanned the list of symptoms, eyes widening when he saw vomiting, nausea and pain—all things Dean had exhibited recently. He passed the laptop back, not bothering to minimize the window. "I'll be right back."

Dropping by the desk, Sam found out there was a restaurant with simple foods within walking distance. Margie, the blond woman who appeared to be about Sam's age, also thrust a note into his hand. "Laura jotted down some other stuff she thought you might be interested in regarding the area." Margie's face was a bright pink. Sam thanked her for the note and headed outside, following the directions she'd given him.

As he approached the corner, he saw a cluster of people picketing across the street. Sam wondered what was worth picketing in a town the size of Utica but didn't particularly want to meet up with any rabid townspeople. Instead of crossing the street he turned and walked farther, deciding he'd cross at the next light. Only there wasn't a next light. Just more people loitering on the sidewalk. Dean needed something light for his stomach and Sam was ravenous; Sam decided to take his chances and crossed the street.

 _End times are upon us_

 _If thou turn to the LORD thy God, and shalt be obedient unto his voice; he will not forsake thee, neither destroy thee, nor forget the covenant of thy fathers which he sware unto them._

 _Signs of the times-wars, pestilence, economic despair, natural disasters. If ye are prepared ye shall not fear._

 _The Wicked will be consumed by fire_

 _The sun shall be darkened and the moon shall not cause her light to shine_

 _Armageddon or bust_

The picket signs were a hodge-podge of religious beliefs but Sam could parse out some specific teachings of the Seventh-day Adventists and the Latter Day Saints. The picket signs didn't bother Sam at all; it was the wild eyed appearance of the people that had Sam spooked.

He dove into the building with the word Restaurant written in bright neon pink letters over the door. The place, neat and clean and filled with art deco furnishings, was pretty empty so Sam approached the counter. A young man with dark hair and a friendly smile greeted him. "Hi, I'm Dave. I hope the crowd didn't give you any trouble. The earthquake has them all riled up."

"Why's that?" Sam asked as he scanned the menu plunked down in front of him. He didn't spot anything that was exactly going to be easy on the stomach. Maybe the cook could make up some scrambled eggs or something.

"Every one-hundred years this area is hit by a large earthquake and that there group thinks the next one is going to be the Big One." The man kept his smile in place but his tone said he wasn't pleased with the group. The man must have sensed what Sam was thinking because his smile turned sheepish. "Don't get me wrong, I believe in freedom of religion and speech and all that, but I don't like it when they scare away business, if you know what I mean."

Looking around the restaurant, a lone man in the corner sipping coffee and two women on the other side talking more than eating, Sam understood the problem completely. That still didn't' change his problem, however. "Listen, I was wondering if you have something that wouldn't bother an upset stomach. The menu looks great but I need something a little…"

"Lighter. Sure. I've got some chicken and rice soup. How about I package some of that up along with some banana, applesauce and toast." The man whipped out his order pad and started scribbling.

Sam crinkled his nose. Soup, banana, apple sauce and toast didn't sound all that appealing. The man started to laugh. "Sorry, my wife has a weak stomach. When it bothers her she adheres to the BRAT diet—bananas, rice, applesauce and toast. Works wonders for her."

Dean ought to love being put on a diet called brat. "Could I have two orders of that please?"

Sam pulled out the note from the clerk at the front desk when the man disappeared into the back. The cursive was precise yet loopy and reminded Sam of his third grade teacher who had taught the class to write.

 _My sister is a librarian here in town and she has a book you might be interested in written by a local man. It details the seismological history of the area._

 _Best Regards,_

 _Laura_

Best Regards? Sam chalked up another similarity between the front desk clerk and his third grade teacher. Who but a school teacher used that salutation? He had to admit he was interested in the book though. Especially on the heels of the End of Days brigade outside.

Dave rang up Sam and handed him a big brown paper bag. "Stop by again tomorrow when you get hungry. No offense, but you look a little rough around the edges. We'll get that stomach of yours feeling better in no time."

Sam tried to smile at friendly Dave but it was a weak attempt. His headache was back but he focused on ignoring it. His main concern right now was Dean and his stomach.

He navigated past the picketers and back up to their room without incident. Dean was in the same spot he'd been in when Sam left—hunched over the laptop, tapping away.

With a big grin that exposed teeth as white as his face, Dean waved him over. "Dude, you're never gonna believe what I found. This whole area experiences—"

"An earthquake about every one hundred years. Yeah, I've heard." Sam was torn between amusement and regret at spoiling Dean's news.

Full pout in place, Dean looked up at him. "What's in the bag?"

Sam handed the bag to Dean. "I'm gonna wash up then we can eat."

He made it to the bathroom before he heard Dean's shrill voice. "A banana and applesauce? You freakin' gotta be kidding me. Where's the food, Sam?"

Sam was sure Dean would thank him for looking after his best interests. Some day.


	2. Lunatic Fringe Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> PART TWO

PART TWO

"Dean, don't you think you should see a doctor about your stomach?" It took Sam a full ten minutes of watching Dean eat to work up the courage to broach the subject of medical care. Sam had a valid fear he was going to be the one needing the medical care if he wasn't careful.

First Dean set his spoon down then he glared. He picked up the spoon and shoveled some more applesauce into his mouth and Sam could have sworn Dean bared his teeth for a minute. He certainly looked incredibly unhappy, and more importantly, he looked incredibly unhappy _with_ _Sam_.

Maybe suggesting a doctor right now wasn't a great idea. Sam changed the subject. "There are people around town picketing. They claim the end of the world is coming. The guy who owns the diner I went to wasn't too pleased since they are affecting his business."

"Give you any trouble?" Dean peeled his banana and wolfed it down. He almost seemed to enjoy it.

Sam shook his head no. "They were just noisy, otherwise harmless. I think."

"That happened before, when there were big quakes in this area. People thought the Apocalypse was upon us," Dean held both hands up and either side of his head, wagging his fingers in the air.

"Um…well, Dean…you know…maybe it is."

Dean pointed at the door to their room, "They don't need to know that."

Sam had to agree on that point. Letting that sort of information out was only going to accomplish two things—make them look crazy and if anyone believed them, panic. "According to what I found out there were a lot of smaller quakes before the main event in the eighteen hundreds."

"Isn't that how it works?" Dean asked.

"Yeah, I think so. At least from everything I've read there are always smaller quakes and aftershocks that can be almost as big as the main quake. Making a river run the wrong way probably freaked quite a few people out because they didn't understand why. So, they went with the Biblical explanation."

Dean was engrossed in the laptop again. "Uh huh. I don't have an ulcer, Sam."

"How do you know? You have all the symptoms and you sure have enough stress in your life."

"You have as much stress."

"No," Sam said quietly. "No, I don't. I cause a lot of your stress."

"Oh, Sam stop that—" Dean clamped his lips shut. One hand fluttered near his stomach before he forced it into a fist and thumped his leg.

Pushing his food to the side, Sam was up and moving toward Dean's bed in a heartbeat. "Dean, I'm sorry, what can I—"

Dean's eyes widened and he slammed the laptop shut, staring down at the floor for a few seconds before jerking to his feet and grabbing Sam's arms. A horrible roar accompanied a wave that flowed beneath the floor of their room. Everything was tossed, the beds moved away from each other, lamps crashed to the floor, the walls cracked and the pictures on them dropped. The door to their room rattled and slid sideways when the wall cracked and buckled. The window beside the wall shattered, raining glass inside and outside the room.

Sam had been in earthquakes, they both had, but nothing like this, never like this. Even spending a few years as a resident of California hadn't prepared him for something of this magnitude.

The entire world twisted and bucked beneath them. The roar of the earth literally moving beneath them was joined by a general racket of alarms, shouts and screams from other people, things falling outside. Unlike the quake in Seven Trumpets, this one seemed to be felt by everyone if the sounds coming through their now shattered window were any indication.

Dean grabbed the laptop and tucked it under one arm; Sam got tucked under the other. "Bathroom," he shouted, though Sam was already turning in that direction and tugging on Dean to go with him. They'd both learned many years ago, bathrooms were some of the sturdiest parts of a building, particularly a cheap hotel type building. During earthquakes and tornadoes the best place to be was a bathroom. Water pipes added extra support to the walls and most bathroom windows were very small and often had thicker block type glass.

The bathroom was barely big enough for one of them, let alone both of them.

Dean shoved him through the door and set the laptop on the counter before bracing both hands against the doorframe, feet spread wide to hang on. When the walls cracked apart and water sprayed from rattling pipes it was sheer instinct that had Sam jerking away from it and to Dean. Sam hung onto the doorframe for a few seconds until the ceiling to their room started coming down in large chunks of plaster and long wooden beams.

Fingers clutching Dean's shirt, Sam yanked him the few extra steps into the bathroom, ducked and at the same time tried to cover his brother's head. Dean wound one arm around Sam's shoulders, the other hand cupped the back of Sam's head and pulled him closer and down. They dropped to their knees, covering as much of each other as possible against the falling building.

Dust and debris filled the air making it hard to breathe and nearly impossible to see. The shaking and bucking of the earth seemed to go on forever before it eased off to minor rumbling and popping.

Dean coughed and waved one hand in front of his face, "Yeah, that was fun." He struggled to stand. Sam got one hand under his shoulder to give him an extra boost up. As soon as he was solidly on his feet, Dean reached down and grasped Sam's wrists, pulling him up.

Once he was up and moving, Dean let go and Sam pressed the back of one hand to his nose, coughing and hacking. Lifting and throwing chunks of what used to be their room they made their way clear of the building. Sam figured they'd come back and sift through it later, right now he wanted out and judging by the way Dean was moving beside him he felt the exact same way as Sam.

They stumbled outside, Sam tripped and would have fallen over broken pieces of concrete from what had been the sidewalk outside the row of rooms had Dean not caught his arm and righted him. They got to the Impala, which by some miracle had been parked in the open and not trashed by poles and building parts as many of the other vehicles had.

The second Sam was close enough he laid one palm flat on the hood of the car and tried to ignore how badly his hands and knees were shaking. Dean twisted around, crisscrossed both arms over his middle and leaned forward over them, panting. Sam saw he was shaking just as much as Sam was: gulping in huge breaths and blowing them back out again. Pulling one hand away from his middle, Dean dragged it over his forehead. Sam saw the fine sheen of sweat on the back of Dean's hand that he then wiped off on his jeans. The flash of pain crossing his face was covered quickly and Dean turned away, looking out at the trashed hotel.

People were everywhere. The hotel was in a complete shambles as was everything as far as they could see. The diner where the people had picketed in front of was a wreck; the large windows lining the front were gone. Some of the tables and chairs placed close to them were outside, probably thrown through by the quake.

Voices and words began to filter into Sam's mind making him look up and around. Dean must have heard the same thing, because he was straightening and turning his head in the same direction as the words came from.

"The river is flowing backwards." A woman shouted.

A man zigzagged along the middle of the street. "We need to dig out survivors."

The woman stopped and screamed in his face. "Don't you understand? It's the end! The earth shakes and destroys our town and now the water in the river changes direction."

"It was an earthquake, nothing more." The man shouted back.

Sam exchanged a look with his brother. In tandem they shoved away from the car and carefully picked their way along the street to where it dead-ended. There was a fence, or rather what was left of a fence they easily crossed, along with a dozen or so others. Across a short span of dirt, grass and upturned earth and they could see the river.

It was wide and dark from the sludge and debris churned up by the quake. The water was choppy, not calm and even like it'd been when they first came and Sam walked to the diner.

Trees were bent at odd angles and river water sprayed and slapped against rocks along the shore. Sam straightened and looked first upriver, then down. "Dean, do you…?"

"Yeah. I do. Sammy, I sure do. The water is going backwards." Dean kicked at the dirt. "Great, just great." He looked around at the people running to the river bank and dropping to their knees, praying. Some of the picketers were among them, signs held high. "Just, goddamn great." Dean sighed and looked at Sam who had nothing to add.

-0-

Dean had to admit, the sight was impressive, a large, massive river's course being changed in literally minutes.

If he didn't have an ulcer now, this surely would give him one.

His stomach roiled and cringed, sending a sharp tang of bile up to pool alongside his tongue. He did _not_ have an ulcer. His stomach gave another sharp jab to his ribs. Okay, maybe he had a small, tiny ulcer. Yeah, like women were just a bit pregnant.

"It was the earthquake. It's not the end of the world." Sam took a few steps toward the other onlookers. His words sounded feeble and Dean wasn't even sure Sam believed that himself, let alone had the ability to convince anyone else. "It's happened before, about a hundred and fifty years ago."

They were standing beside a group of a few dozen people and Sam was talking to himself.

"No one's listening, Sammy." Dean closed the space between them and grabbed Sam's elbow, pulling him away, wincing in the process.

Turning to him, Sam's face sank. "Dean, man, you need to see a doctor."

"I don't have an—" Again his stomach disagreed, heartily; it was like the gastric version of Pinocchio's nose.

"Yeah, and I'm Santa Claus."

"Dude, seriously, I knew it. How do you get around the world in one night?" Dean snickered and ducked away when Sam slapped his shoulder, snorted and stalked back toward what was left of their hotel.

Rubbing at his uncooperative midsection, Dean gave the crowd gathering at the river one last glance and trudged after his brother. They went back to their room and picked through the debris to find their belongings. It was only a matter of time before the fire department or police department or some department showed up and started searching for survivors.

There was another, more practical matter—the Impala. They both knew they needed it for transportation, and they also knew it had to be hidden. There was too much inside the car, albeit under a false trunk bottom, but if anyone searched well enough, they'd find a rather large cache of not so legal weapons.

"We should get the car out of here," Sam said, as if on cue, zipping a duffle closed and slinging it over his shoulder. Another one dangled off one hand. "I think I found most everything that was on this side. You know the Red Cross is liable to show up."

"Sam," Dean growled out a warning, but his stomach growled its own warning, making him turn away and wipe beads of perspiration off his upper lip.

"Just sayin'."

Sam reached for the bags Dean held, making Dean lean back and tighten his grip on them. Arching one eyebrow he gave Sam a serious warning glare.

Shoulders sagging, Sam heaved a sigh. "Look, let me, humor me, please?"

"Fine," Dean grumbled and let go of the straps.

Smiling, Sam shook his head and shouldered all the duffels. "Was that so damn hard?"

"Yes." Dean fished the car keys from his pocket and twisted on his heels, picking his way carefully over rubble. Opening the trunk he leaned on the hood until Sam had everything packed up. "Mind if I drive?"

"Be my guest." Sam smiled and waved grandly at the front end of the car. He went around to the other side, waiting patiently for Dean to get in and unlock his door.

Starting the car, Dean guided it carefully out of the lot. The road was damaged, but passable. "This is the second one in as many months, Sammy, we need to start preparing, have some extra supplies."

Sam looked at him for a few minutes, slack-jawed and a bit too wide-eyed. "Do you think…?" His voice sort of trailed off as Sam rubbed at his eyebrows with thumb and forefinger.

"You okay?" The way color dropped from Sam's face and how his breathing hitched set Dean immediately on edge and his stomach nearly jumped off that edge.

Nodding, Sam slouched down and leaned his head back against the seatback. "Yeah. Is this just the start? There'll be more?"

"I think we should consider the possibility and prepare. Doesn't it seem a bit odd that all of a sudden there are earthquakes so strong a river changes course and we're there to witness it? How big is this continent and this shit is happening wherever we are. That's a heck of a coincidence. And you know I don't believe in coincidence."

"How about in there? It's not too far from town and pretty flat, so no rockslides." Sam pointed out a stand of trees off the road and maybe a quarter mile ahead.

Dean leaned forward and squinted, ignoring how his insides picked now to start a small forest fire that wanted to climb out and up his esophagus to his mouth. Carefully he guided the big car off the road, slowing so he could feel how well the dirt was going to hold up under her weight. Satisfied the tires wouldn't sink and they'd be stuck he pressed down on the gas again, picking up a bit of speed.

Once inside the trees, they pulled branches down and used them and some underbrush and leaves to cover their car. Dean pulled out the bag of coins and spread them over the hood. He looked up at Sam, who was watching over Dean's shoulder. If possible the kid's face got even paler.

"Another seal broken," Sam exhaled.

"It's starting up for real. This crap, this quake and the river changing course, this is just the beginning. Apocalyptic foreplay." Dean wiped his hand over the car hood, sweeping the coins back into their bag and stuffing the bag into his hip pocket. "Let's go find out what we can find out."

-0-

Bob watched, but was careful to keep from being watched. He didn't want even the Winchester boys, whom he'd grown very fond of, alerted to his presence, not just yet. He needed to learn. To learn he had to observe without distraction or disruption.

These humans fascinated him. One minute there were fighting and trying to tear each other to shreds and then in the next they were desperately trying to save one another.

It was sort of cool, in a confusing, nonsensical, totally un-angelic sort of way.

He followed along as Dean and Sam traipsed through the trees back to the road and back into town. They, Dean especially, had to know what this was. Sam was no slouch in the research department and he was pretty quick to put things together, but Dean could hear the whispers of angels. Dean had to be completely aware this was the beginning of the end. The earlier seals were minor compared to this one. Each seal held more power, being each was closer to the end game.

Drab green trucks with canvas tops over their beds rolled down the road, passing Dean and Sam who slipped off the road and ducked into a ditch, obviously trying to stay out of their sight. The occupants of the truck were plainly military, and Bob caught sight of equipment used to search and rescue. So, he thought it odd the Winchester brothers would avoid them. Then again the Winchester brothers avoided a lot of people Bob thought they wouldn't.

The Winchester brothers were incredibly unpredictable. Maybe that's why Bob liked them so much. There was the way of the world and then there was the way of the Winchester world. He liked the latter so much more. There was honor, dependability and a loyalty he rarely saw in anyone now or a millennium ago. They defined the term good men.

As they entered the town again they broke into a run, heading for a building that had two walls standing and two in a pile on the ground. Bob heard heartbeats, but they were slow and sluggish, coming from under the rubble. He heard the muffled cries of someone else a few feet away and saw some of the loose rock and bricks moving.

Tapping on Sam's arm, Dean pointed to the moving rubble and ran faster. He skidded to a stop and dropped to his knees, hands frantically digging. Sam stopped a few feet away and looked around. Seeing something that interested him, he ran a few yards and was back at his brother's side in a few seconds, a pipe large enough to be a make-shift shovel in hand. Leaning down, Sam started shoving bricks and debris out of the way.

Dean grabbed some cloth and pulled back, calling to Sam for help. Sam climbed over the rubble and stopped opposite Dean, leaned down and took hold of what looked like a blue chunk of material. Together they pulled on the material and a woman appeared. She pointed to the spot where Bob already knew the heartbeat had stopped.

At once the brothers climbed over the dirt and stone of the old building and repeated the process, this time pulling out the body of a teenage boy. A third person, an elderly man, was dug out a few yards from the boy. Dean moved away, saying he was going to get help. Sam tried to calm the woman and older man, both sobbing over the body of the boy.

When Dean came back, people wearing vests announcing they were National Guard, he and Sam helped them get the other people clear. Once they were loaded into a truck, being taken for medical care Bob supposed, Sam and Dean sort of disappeared into the background.

"Why are you watching this?"

Bob turned and folded his hands together in front of him, studying the being that appeared beside him. "I like them. You should watch them more often. We can learn from them." He pointed to the Winchesters. "They stick together; they're strong because they know they need each other."

" _They_ have roles to play and this isn't it."

"I'm not so sure," Bob said.

The other angel snorted and shook his head. "Whatever. There are souls here that need escorting. Leave them alone, those brothers, and get to work. Reapers won't wait all day you know and you sure don't want to piss one off."

Bob nodded and in a flutter of wings moved from the outskirts of town to the center, following the trail Dean and Sam took him on. There was no reason he couldn't do both things at the same time. They steered clear of the National Guard people, only approaching them when absolutely needed and then keeping conversation and time spent with them to a minimum.

It was fascinating, military never really changed. These people were no different than those Roman soldiers Bob knew so long ago. If they weren't killing people they were trying to save them. It was odd.

As the day wore on Bob watched as Sam stuck closer and closer to his older brother. It wasn't simply the fact Dean was sick and getting sicker, even Bob could see the unhealthy green pallor Dean's skin was taking on. There was something much deeper. Those two drew from one another. Too bad Bob couldn't convince other angels how important this was and the Winchesters should be told everything.

"I sure can't help them if I'm locked away on another plane," Bob didn't talk to anyone in particular, but the fact Dean winced and glanced in his direction made him realize he couldn't be this close. Even without trying to contact Dean it was happening. Dean's ability was getting too strong and it was too out of control.

If Dean and Sam Winchester couldn't get a grip on their abilities and learn to control them, those same powers were going to destroy them and this world would pay the consequences.


	3. Lunatic Fringe Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> PART THREE

PART THREE

Dean cocked his head to the side, trying to pinpoint where the voice was coming from. He could've sworn it was Bob's voice. But if he was picking up Bob's voice then that meant the angel was in range and if that were the case, Bob would've popped in on them by now. After all, their friendly angel wasn't exactly one for restraint.

"What's with the Lassie routine?"

Sam's quiet voice in his ear startled Dean and his stomach jumped in unison with his nerves. He hated when someone got the drop on him. "Sam," he said, and his tone was a little meaner than he would've liked, "Knock it off, Sam. I don't need your smartass comments right now."

The skin around Sam's mouth tightened but that was the only visible sign that Dean's overreaction had rubbed him wrong. Dean quit paying attention to Sam as other voices chimed in, filling his head with noisy static. He tried to pick through the voices but at the moment it was just a constant babble, cranking the ache in his head from normal tension headache proportions to mind splintering migraine. How the hell did Sam put up with the pain when he had those visions?

Dean blinked his eyes open, surprised since he hadn't remembered closing them. Sam was hovering over him, hand on his elbow, easing him to the ground. Dean wanted to protest the treatment-he wasn't fragile-but the pressure building in his stomach stole his breath away.

He barely had enough warning before the contents of his stomach were spilling into his mouth, then spewing on the ground next to him. Someone was moaning and for a moment Dean thought his weak-stomached brother was in distress but he could hear Sam's voice quietly coaching him. "Don't fight it, Dean. Try to relax. That's it."

Warmth on his back penetrated his consciousness and Dean realized Sam was rubbing a comforting hand in small circles, just like Dean used to do when Sam was little and suffering from a stomach bug. He knew he should push away from Sam but he found the motion strangely soothing and leaned into it instead.

The voices in his head had finally eased up and his stomach wasn't pitching and rolling either. Something rough dug into his back and Dean's eyes snapped open. He was sitting at the base of a tree, bark digging into him uncomfortably. His heartbeat sped up as he realized Sam's steady presence wasn't next to him. He snapped his head around until he located Sam.

Sam was in deep conversation with someone in fatigues and cap. Must be a guardsman. Before Dean could call to him, his brother broke away from the guardsman and sprinted back to Dean's side.

Not walked.

Not jogged.

Sprinted. Something was wrong. As his brother neared, Dean could read the panic which turned Sam's expressive eyes dark in his pale face.

Kneeling next to him, Sam put his hand on Dean's shoulder. "Hey, you with me? I found us a ride. Hang tight and I'll get you to the vehicle."

Dean was confused. He remembered helping dig out quake victims after hiding the Impala. If they needed a ride, why didn't Sam just go get the car? It didn't really matter at this point. Dean knew something was wrong and he'd do anything to ease the look of dread on Sam's face. Nodding, Dean planted his hands on the ground and pushed up.

The world tilted crazily and the annoying buzz was back in his head. A strong arm kept him upright as he heaved and moaned while trying to clear the bile out of his throat and mouth again. Terror shot through Dean as his legs fell away from him; he hated not being in control of his body. His Eyes careened around wildly until he established his equilibrium. This was all wrong. He was in Sam's arms, being carried.

It was getting hard to breathe and Dean focused all of his attention on Sam's face. He'd never admit it out loud but since their mom had died, being by Sam brought him a measure of peace. It was when Sam was gone, whether by his own choice-Stanford, when he took off after the whole Croatoan scare-or due to some other force-the freakin' Benders and Yellow Eyes came to mind-that Dean's anxiety always had blown sky high right along with his blood pressure. How could he take care of his little brother if Sam kept disappearing?

Except right now, Sam was right here. Within touching distance. The rocking motion lulled him and Dean didn't fight it when his eyes closed.

-0-

Things were bad. The whole digging out quake victims was a strain they hadn't anticipated but that was nothing compared to what was going on with Dean.

His brother was vomiting blood. Sam had seen it with his own eyes as Dean had purged his stomach on the floor of the forest. Copious amounts of bright red blood were difficult to miss. Sam wondered if this was a new development or had been going on for a while. It was hard to tell when it came to Dean. His brother tended to whimper and whine about the little injuries but the egregious ones were hidden away.

Gnawing on his lower lip, Sam studies his brother for some sort of sign. Bullets could be dug out, stitched up, and antibiotics and pain relievers given. The same for cuts and slices. Even bronchitis and pneumonia could be dealt with after raiding a pharmacy.

But Sam was pretty sure stomach pain and coughing up blood meant an ulcer, possibly perforated, and that was something Sam didn't know how to begin to treat. He felt as powerless now as he had when Alistair had tortured Dean in front of him; he could only stand by and watch, doing nothing.

He heard voices coming from over the rise behind him. Making sure Dean, only partially conscious at this point, was propped up against the sturdy maple tree, Sam jogged toward whoever was trekking through the area. He didn't want to ask for help but at this point he didn't have a choice. Dean wasn't going to get better on his own and needed a hospital.

A small cluster of people stood around in fatigues, discussing the devastation. There were five of them, all in Illinois National Guard uniforms. "Excuse me, I need to get someone to the hospital. Can you help me?"

An older man with the insignia of captain, broke away and approached Sam. "Where'd you come from? You're a ways off from the cabins. And you need to get someone else to the hospital or you need to go? You don't look so good yourself." The man pointed to his upper lip and Sam frowned for a moment until he understood that there was moisture on his lip. He brushed at it with the back of his hand and jerked his hand away, surprised to see the red smeared across his skin. This wasn't from Dean; Sam's nose was bleeding.

Sam felt pressure in his forehead and willed it away. The vague heaviness in his head had been weighing him down on and off since the earthquake. Maybe even longer because he'd had a headache since before they hit town. His thinking was also a little muddy which wasn't good right now. He needed to be at the top of his game—Dean needed him and he wasn't going to let his brother down.

"We were helping with the rescue efforts when my brother took a turn for the worse. He's over there." Sam gestured in the direction he'd just come from. He was more than a little antsy that he couldn't see Dean from where he stood. The urge to turn tail and scurry back to Dean's side was hard to ignore. Their dad had preached the importance of sticking together, especially when one of them was down, so that it was an ingrained habit. Although foremost at the moment was getting his brother some medical help. That trumped everything.

The captain frowned at him thoughtfully and Sam was afraid he was about to undergo an inquisition but the man acquiesced without argument. "Why don't you show me and then we'll figure out what kind of help he needs." The man turned back and barked out some orders to the remaining two men and one woman before returning his attention to Sam. "Do you mind me asking what happened to your brother?"

Sam forced himself to slow down so that the man's shorter legs could keep up with him. "I think he's got a bleeding ulcer."

"Huh. I thought he'd been hurt in the earthquake." The man took off his cap and rubbed the top of his head, much like Bobby did when he was thinking over a problem. He slapped the cap back on top of his head and adjusted the bill. "So a bleeding ulcer...what kind of symptoms is he having?"

Was the man just making conversation with him or was he giving him the third degree? That was one of the reasons why Winchesters avoided authority figures...they might just be friendly but it came off as nosey and nosey wasn't a hassle they needed.

They cleared the rise and Dean was still leaning up against the tree where Sam had left him. Relief coursed through Sam making him dizzy and he stumbled. A strong hand curled around his bicep. "Easy does it. Are you sure you didn't get hurt in the earthquake?"

Sam shook off the helping hand. "I'm fine. But Dean's been reenacting The Exorcist, only it's blood instead of pea soup. I really think he needs a hospital and soon."

The man planted his feet a good ten yards from Dean's location. He grimaced as he looked Dean over. "We don't have a litter with us. Do you think he can walk? If so, I've got transport a mile out and we can leave now. Otherwise I can call over the medics."

Sam didn't want Dean to wait any longer. "I'll get him to your vehicle."

The captain's walkie-talkie crackled to life and Sam noticed Dean was looking at him. His eyes were glazed and what little color remained washed away under Sam's perusal. Sam kicked up dust and twigs as he flew the remaining steps to Dean's side.

He dropped down next to Dean. Kneeling next to him, Sam put his hand on Dean's shoulder. "Hey, you with me? I found us a ride. Hang tight and I'll get you to the vehicle."

Before Sam could help Dean up, his brother was pushing off the ground. Sam gave him full marks for attempting it under his own steam but the effort fell short of its mark and Dean crashed back toward the ground. Sam didn't waste any more time; first he whipped off his jacket, tucking it around Dean for added warmth, and then he braced an arm behind Dean's back and slid the other under his knees. It was unbelievably awkward but Sam finally staggered to his feet.

"Sir, please," the captain warned him, "You'll drop him."

Sam would have preferred a fireman's carry but putting that kind of pressure on Dean's stomach seemed like a really bad idea. Sam's body wasn't all that thrilled with carrying Dean, who might be shorter than him but obviously enjoyed eating, but he didn't see a choice. "It's okay, I've got him."

The walkie-talkie squawked to life again and Sam would have stumbled except for the steadying hand on his arm. "Capt. Winters, the truck is standing by for you. We'll head back to town unless you need us here. Apparently the locals are in an uproar. Over."

Sam did stumble when he heard the name Winters. For a moment he thought the man had said Winchester. It's not like they had a copyright on the name but it would've been quite a coincidence. There was even something about the captain that reminded Sam of their dad.

The captain kept his hand curled around Sam's arm as they trudged on, keying the unit in his hand. "Copy that. What's up with the locals? Over."

"Something about the river flowing backward and a bunch of them marching forth to greet their savior. I don't know. But command is afraid they're going to riot so we're headed back to town to help stabilize things. Over."

They were heading up an incline and Sam's pulse pounded in his temple from the effort. Capt. Winters kept giving him sidelong glances which made him uncomfortable but he could only keep on walking. Staggering. One foot in front of the other. One step at a time.

"Why don't you let me carry him for a while, son. You're not too steady on your feet." Sam hadn't realized the captain had wrapped up his talk with his unit until that moment. He was really slipping. He needed to pull himself together.

As for carrying Dean, he didn't trust anyone else. Hell, he didn't even trust the staff at the hospital but what choice did he have? "No, thank you. You said the truck was about a mile away. We should be there soon."

The dubious look on the man's face told Sam the older man didn't think he could do this. Doubting Sam was just the impetus he needed to get the job done; tell Sam he couldn't do something and he'd jump through hoops to prove someone wrong. His dad and Dean had figured that out early enough. Sam knew it but fell for it every time.

Sam was puffing out breaths and they chugged over the uneven terrain. The area was really beautiful and under other circumstances, Sam might have enjoyed the hike. He glanced down at the pale form in his arms, quiet except for little moans that were uttered in conjunction with each step he took. Sam wished he could take the pain away, ease Dean's suffering.

He couldn't, so the best thing he could do was focus on his surroundings. Maybe he could get some intel out of the captain. Figure out just what was going on in this town. "Did I hear that the locals are up in arms?"

The grip on his arm tightened as Sam's feet slid on the slippery slope. "We saw a bunch of them holding signs when we came into town. End of Days and that kind of thing. It's not the most stabile climate at the moment. I'll be happy when the rest of our brigade arrives."

Lacking the energy to carry on further conversation, Sam concentrated on holding Dean steady as he tripped through the scenic land. Dean's eyes fluttered open every once in a while and stared at Sam before closing again. A wave of irritation flooded Sam; if Dean wasn't so bent on proving he was a he-man then he wouldn't be in such dire straits right now. Although after spending so much time in the hospital after the run-in with Alistair, Sam couldn't blame Dean for wanting to avoid medical help. They'd both had enough of that to last them a lifetime.

"Good news. The truck should be right through this stand of trees. How are you holding up?" The concern in the man's voice was almost enough to break Sam. Almost but not quite. He would get Dean to safety before he lost it.

Sam lost track of time as Capt. Winters helped settle Dean in the back of the camouflage truck, the kind that was used to transport large numbers of soldiers in the back. A blanket was wrapped around Dean who, despite the extra layer of Sam's jacket, had sorely needed it as fine tremors shook his body. Shock was clearly setting in—shallow breathing along with pale, cool clammy skin. Elevating Dean's feet would have been helpful to treat the shock but Sam was afraid it would trigger another bout of vomiting. Instead Sam settled for wrapping an arm around Dean's chest and bracing his brother whose legs sprawled in front of him with his back resting against Sam's chest. Sam settled the fingers of his free hand against Dean's inner wrist, unhappy with the thrum of the rapid, weak pulse. He consoled himself with the thought that at least there was a pulse.

Shivering in the rapidly cooling air, Sam thrust aside his own aches and pains. He found himself murmuring words of encouragement but he knew he was babbling and wasn't making much sense. Dean didn't seem to care, relaxing into his warmth.

"Hey, they're bringing out a gurney." Sam's head whipped to the side, surprised to find the compassionate countenance of the captain staring at him. He'd been so focused on Dean that he'd lost track of what was going on, hadn't felt the truck even come to a stop. Shaking his head, he berated himself. He couldn't afford to do that. There was too much at stake.

The back of the truck was swarmed by medical personnel. Sam was relieved but at the same time hesitant. This was the hard part. Entrusting Dean's care to strangers. He'd just have to make sure he stuck like glue to Dean's side, at least until his brother was back to his snarky self and able to look out for himself.

-0-

Dean's eyelids resisted his orders to lift. The lovely scent of antiseptic that only hospitals seem capable of generating assaulted his nostrils. He was so going to kick Sam's ass for bringing him here. First he had to open his eyes.

It took a monumental effort but his eyelids finally lifted. He wrinkled his nose as he saw not the white ceiling he was expecting but one with strips of blue, yellow and green. Not strips, but letters. A, B and C. And Snoopy peaking at him from behind a cloud. "Sam, where the hell am I?"

At least he assumed it was Sam whose hand enveloped his own. Dean was so confused by the artwork on the ceiling which was at odds with the hospital smells that he didn't pull his hand away. "You're at Illinois Valley Community Hospital in Peru. How's the stomach feeling?"

Sam's voice was a low rasp and Dean turned his head from the ceiling to look his brother over. Sam looked rough. Exhaustion marred his face, eyes dull with dark patches beneath them. "Hey, are you okay?" Dean asked.

His brother's laugh was a little shaky but the smile that spread over his face was natural. "I'm not the one admitted to the Maternity Ward. Although I have to say you're looking better. How do you feel?"

Dean noted that Sam didn't answer his question but let it pass. He was too busy enjoying the slight buzz in his ears and the absence of pain to make an issue of it. "The pain is gone. See, I told you I didn't need to see a doctor."

Rubbing a hand across his forehead with a weariness that bugged Dean, Sam snorted. "No, dumbass, you needed to see a doctor. You've got a bleeding ulcer and you need surgery to fix it. You've also got some heavy duty pain killers to help until they can schedule the procedure. The place is packed with earthquake victims so they made room for you here."

Scanning the room, Dean noticed a crib in the corner. Sam wasn't lying—he was in the Maternity Ward. At least that explained the alphabet and cartoon character painted on the ceiling. Then it sunk in…he needed surgery. "No way. I'm not letting some two-bit surgeon practice on me."

Someone cleared their voice from the doorway and Dean saw a young blond woman in scrubs leaning against the wall. "Actually, it'll cost you more than two bits, Mr. Starkey, and I'm all done practicing. I even have a license from the State of Illinois to prove it."

A smile curved her generous lips and Dean was relieved he hadn't pissed off the surgeon. Sam's arms were crossed and he had a pissy look on his face; Dean was stuck here whether he wanted to be or not. At least he had a cool name—he'd borrowed it from Ringo Starr after all. Dean preferred Zeppelin's music but it was hard to find fault with The Beatles.

The surgeon advanced into the room, closing the door behind her. "I'm Dr. Johnson and we've scheduled an endoscopy for first thing in the morning. Do you have any questions before I boot you out of here and send you home to get some rest?" The doctor wasn't looking at Dean and he found that mildly irritating. Although Sam looked like he needed rest so he could understand the doctor's concern; one stiff breeze and his brother would probably fall flat on his face.

Sam set his lips in a mutinous line. "Oh, I won't be leaving. I'm staying right here. Although I'd like to hear what all is involved with the endoscopy."

The doctor's eyes narrowed but she didn't argue with his brother. She turned her attention to Dean with a professional smile pinned to her attractive face. "We're going to give you a mix of Versed and Demerol to relax you and then we're going to maneuver the endoscope, basically a long plastic tube, via your mouth and throat into your stomach. We'll insert a probe down the tube and take care of the bleeding, probably using heat. An injection of adrenaline and fibrin glue should minimize the chance of bleeding." She turned to frown at Sam before looking back at Dean brightly. "Any questions?"

Dean had obviously missed some action but the heated looks Sam and the doctor were throwing each other made him wonder what exactly had transpired. No one could irritate the shit out of Dean like his little brother but it wasn't every day he met someone else Sam had that kind of effect on.

"No food or liquid before the procedure," her voice droned on when neither brother asked anything further. Her smile gentled when Dean crinkled his face up in distress. He was feeling much better and would love to get his hands on a juicy cheeseburger and greasy fries. Comfort food.

The doctor evidently was a mind reader. "I know you're feeling better at the moment but you don't want anything in your system when we scope you. Trust me on that score. I'll leave you gentleman for now. Good night."

Her hips twitched beneath the blue scrubs as she exited the room. Watching her trim figure until it was no longer visible Dean asked, "So what's the story there…Sammy?"

His brother was clutching his head, leaning forward in his chair. Hands clutched in his hair, practically tugging out strands by the fistful.

Glazed, distant eyes. Labored, slow breathing. Dean recognized the signs.

Sam was in the throes of a vision.

"Sammy, come on, man. Relax." It was killing Dean that he was stuck in the bed while the color blanched out of Sam's face and he moaned under his breath.

Screw this. Dean started fiddling with his IV. He couldn't sit and watch Sam in this kind of distress.

"Just…give me a second…" Sam wheezed out, halting Dean's efforts. His color was still crappy and his eyes were glossy in the harsh fluorescent lighting.

It took far longer than Dean was comfortable with before Sam lifted his head to look right at Dean. He opened his mouth, shrugged his shoulders, then closed his mouth with a snap. Taking a deep breath, he tried again. "The End of Days crowd is going to the dam at Starved Rock; they think it's judgment day and they're ready to meet their maker. The problem is they're really going to meet their maker because the dam is going to burst."

Dean was always amazed at the amount of information Sam could wring from his visions. The trick was in not making Sam feel like a freak which was hard since the visions still freaked Dean the hell out. "Okay, fine. Call the National Guard and give them a heads up."

Sam chewed viciously on his lower lip. "Dean, people are going to die." Silence stretched out as Sam dropped his head into his hands. Dean hated this; there wasn't anything he could do to help Sam's pain. He could only sit by helplessly and if there was anything Dean hated, it was being helpless.

Finally Sam straightened, his face set in stubborn lines. "I have to do what I can to stop this. I'll see if I can keep the crowd from going to the dam but that's not what happened in my vision. They're gathered at the dam so I need to go there, figure out a way to fix the dam."

Mouth hanging open, Dean snapped it shut, jaw grinding mercilessly. "What, you going to play The Little Dutch Boy and stick your finger in the dyke? Give me a freakin' break, Sam. Call the Army Corps of Engineers. Call the National Guard. But you can't seriously think you can keep the dam from bursting!"

Reaching next to the chair, Sam fished around in his backpack for a moment, ignoring Dean. Dean hated being ignored as much as he hated feeling helpless. "Sam, damn it, answer me!"

His stomach jolted and his mouth was flooded with juices. He didn't have time for a bleeding ulcer but apparently his body didn't care.

Sam finally stood up, standing next to Dean. His eyes were moist. Pleading. "Don't be mad at me. I have to try. You'd do the same thing and you know it."

Dean opened his mouth to argue—that's exactly what Dean would do but Sam was different, he too, too many risks and got hurt—when he felt something steely and cold on his wrist.

Jerking his attention downward, Dean saw handcuffs, one encircling his wrist, the other around the bed railing. Dean was so angry, he almost blacked out. He blinked his eyes to clear them of the dots invading his vision to find Sam in his space. "I'll be back as soon as I can. And if my vision is anything to go by, I'll have one hell of a story to share. Think 'Ride of the Valkyries' from Apocalypse Now."

Yanking on the handcuff, Dean glared at Sam. "Not like I'm going to go anywhere, at least not quickly." Dean dropped his arm, his efforts to get loose doing nothing except leaving him exhausted. "Sam, please, don't. Take me with you."

A wistful smile graced Sam's face for a moment, dimples threatening to pop out, then smoothed away. Sam didn't look conflicted. He looked like someone who had made their peace. He looked resolute.

If Dean didn't find a way to stop Sam, he was afraid he'd never see his brother again.

"Sam," Dean started to plead, only to realize his brother had slipped out of the room.


	4. Lunatic Fringe Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: We will be having a brief three week hiatus following this ep before finishing off the final episodes of the season. We thank you for your continued readership and hope to see you soon!

A/N: We will be having a brief three week hiatus following this ep before finishing off the final episodes of the season. We thank you for your continued readership and hope to see you soon!

PART FOUR

It was a monumentally crappy thing to do, walking out on Dean like that, and Sam knew it. He had to go and try to stop the impending disaster at the dam. Being honest, Sam shouldn't even be here alive and well. Dean needed to get his ulcer healed and he wasn't going to do that running around after people too silly to get out of the way of a dangerous situation.

Sam didn't see himself coming back. Dean would be fine, eventually, Bobby would see to that. It's what Sam tried telling himself the entire run to the dam. He tried but he wasn't successful. The horrible truth was Dean wouldn't be fine anymore than Sam would be if they're positions were reversed.

Stretching his legs even farther, Sam concentrated on the burn of his thigh muscles and ache of his lungs. It was what drove him farther from the hospital and the brother he desperately wanted to return to. Alistair had hurt them both far deeper than either wanted to admit: cracked open vicious gaps in each brother's sense of security and drove home how vulnerable they really were. Sam would have liked nothing better than to turn around and go straight back to his brother, stay with him every minute until he was mended and beyond that time. It was the only place in the world Sam felt at peace and protected.

However, doing that would condemn a few dozen people to possible death. Maybe it was what they deserved, wandering around a dam in the wake of an earthquake, but neither he nor Dean would be able to look in the mirror every morning without being consumed with guilt, even if Dean didn't want to admit it right now.

Sam wanted to go back to the hospital and be safe with Dean.

He couldn't, so, he toughed it up and ran faster.

When he reached the dam base, Sam didn't slow down. Grabbing the railing he swung onto the steps, taking them four at a time to the door situated at the top, Sam stopped only long enough to yank on it, relieved when it popped open immediately. Inside was washed in shadows and the sound of machinery hit him almost at once, as did the smell of water.

Hesitating for a minute to decide which way to go, Sam followed a row of monitors displaying the pressure and output of the dam. Scattered among the monitors were valves and levers.

Everything looked fine, there were no chunks falling out of the dam, not from Sam's vantage point inside the monitoring area. He sprinted through to where he saw a man standing near the opposite end and a door. Through the window, beyond the door, Sam could see the dam.

Rushing up to the man, Sam was talking before he stopped running. "Excuse me, sir, I need to find whoever is in charge here." His words were more panted out between inhaling gulps of air and trying to steady his breathing.

The man turned and coolly looked him up and down. Sam realized how he must look to an outsider, breathing like he'd just run a marathon—okay, so he sort of had—hair plastered to his face and sweat dripping off him, eyes probably too wide.

"I'm in charge. What do you want?"

Pointing out at the dam, he tried to sound rational. "Those people out there are all going to be washed away. The dam was damaged. It's going to break."

Shaking his head, the man glanced out the window at the dam then back. "Its integrity is good. I don't see a breech happening."

"Please, you've got to believe me. All those people at the river are going to be underwater in about twenty minutes."

"How do you know and why should I believe you? Do you have any dam engineering experience?"

"No, not really." Sam was getting desperate and desperate times called for the truth. "Well…I…um…I saw it happen," he blurted out. "Please, sir, this whole thing is going to go and we've got to clear everyone out."

"You saw it?"

Sam nodded.

"Like some kind of heavenly vision?"

Another nod.

The man gave him another visual scrutiny, eyes narrowing. "What are you, some kind of prophet of the Lord, boy?"

Scuffing one toe along the floor, Sam smiled, letting his dimples pop out. He looked down then raised his chin ever so slightly to look at the man from under his soaked and stringy bangs. He could work this. He could _so_ work with this and hoped the flash of embarrassment from what he was about to do made him appear humbled—not like the big dork Dean would call him if he ever found out.

"Simply a humble servant, sir." Sam folded his hands in front of him for effect.

The man's eyebrows shot up to his hairline. His hand landed hard on the back of Sam's shoulder, forcing him forward a step. "Let's get a move on then, boy!" Thank goodness for the Bible Belt.

Sam waited until the man's back was turned before he rolled his eyes, took a deep breath and sprinted after the man chanting a steady plea in his head of _please_ _don't_ _let_ _Dean_ _find_ _out_. They ran out onto the walkway over the dam, stopping in the middle. There was a clear view for miles of the river and surrounding land about to be flooded. Easily seen was the group of people convening along the river bank, picketing, praying, and what looked like baptizing one another. They were gathered under a small bridge that was likely to be washed away in the next few minutes.

"My jeep is parked over there. We can get to it faster this way." He pointed to a parking lot on the far side and below the dam.

Ignoring the pain his body was screaming at him, Sam followed the man across the dam and to the parking lot. Just as they reached the pavement there was a snap, then a pop, and a second even louder snap.

They stopped and turned in unison to the dam. Sam watched, transfixed by the horror of what was happening, as a vertical crack formed like some alien entity, slithering from the middle up and down at the same time. A few seconds later a twin crack appeared halfway across the dam, followed by a third one.

"Oh crap," the man muttered and shoved Sam at the jeep. "Get in, kid. And you'd better start your prayin'."

Sam climbed into the jeep and hung on as the man gunned the engine and floored it, lurching the jeep forward, fishtailing for a few seconds before it bounced along the riverbank.

The sickening sound of falling concrete was followed by the sound of gallons of water sloshing through the opening and rushing to fill the small river to overflowing and resume its natural course.

"Hang on," the man shouted and the jeep sped forward faster.

"Faster," Sam shouted.

"Got it to the floor now."

The town itself wasn't in as much danger, once the water cleared the bridge and where the people were gathering there was a sharp bend. The town had been built before the dam, so it was farther from the modern bank and closer to where the original bank had been. The floodwaters would seep into the outskirts, but not destroy the entire town.

It would, however, completely obliterate the small bridge and the group of people.

"Crap, crap, crap," the man was frantically turning the wheel, but Sam realized it was doing little good.

He grabbed the jeep's roll bar and swung around to see the ground behind and below them. What he saw was worse than any demon or wendigo. Water churned and frothed, chasing the jeep and overtaking it. The wheels no longer found purchase on the ground and Sam was in the middle of the worst case of hydroplaning he'd ever seen. The jeep was lifted and carried, spinning and tossing with the water.

They were rushing headlong at the group of people.

Sam jerked across the seat and slammed his fist onto the horn.

The jeep twisted around as the water deepened until they were turned completely around. In the next instant it listed to one side then the front end bucked and a wave of water sluiced across the inside of the jeep. Sam clung to the roll bar and tried to pull his torso straighter and up. The jeep suddenly bottomed out, plunging the front end completely under water.

Gasping and sputtering for air, Sam managed to pull himself up far enough he wasn't under the water anymore. He was also alone in the jeep. Twisting one way then the other, Sam searched for the man, but didn't see him. The people had obviously heard the horn and were scattering, racing up hill toward higher ground and the town.

Wiping water out of his eyes Sam gagged and sputtered, trying to keep his head above the liquid onslaught and find a way out. The small bridge loomed ahead and it was miraculously still intact.

Standing until he balanced on the seat, Sam wound one arm around the roll bar and leaned forward and to the side, other arm outstretched to grab the bridge. The water had raised the jeep high enough it looked like he could get onto the bridge and away from the flood. Waiting until he was almost underneath before letting go of the roll bar, Sam jumped.

His fingers wrapped around the wet metal and he used the roll bar of the jeep to kick off from, boosting himself higher onto the under bridge framework. His fingers ached and his shoulders screamed, protesting how his weight pulled on them, but he managed to get one arm hooked over a support beam. Sputtering from the water spraying up his nose and in his mouth, Sam gritted his teeth and swung his legs onto the next beam.

"SAM!" From out of nowhere Dean's voice hit Sam's ears along with another sound that made Sam think of the beating of giant wings. Someone was issuing orders out of what sounded like a bullhorn, only it was above him, not at ground level.

Pushing curiosity about the odd noises and positioning of voices, he focused and managed a look around, seeing Dean running toward the flood. The bridge groaned, then moved. Another loud rumble was heard as metal scraped over metal and the entire bridge swung sideways.

Terror and panic rose up Sam's throat along with bile. He should have stayed in the jeep. Snorting water out of his nose as he struggled to stay calm and breathe evenly, Sam's stomach dropped away when the end of the bridge was shoved upwards and listed almost immediately to one side. A wall of water rolled end over end at the bridge and Sam.

The wave hit him full force in the chest, ripping him away from the bridge. A split second later he saw it slice through the water, twisted and crumpled. Somehow he bobbed to the surface in time to see another wave of water whoosh at him. The last thing he saw before it hit him was Dean splashing into the water from the bank, his voice barely heard above the din of the raging flood.

-0-

"So help me, Bob, if you don't get your ass here right now, I'll chew my hand off to get out of these cuffs!" Dean snarled to the room. He would have much preferred to shout, but he didn't want that anal retentive doctor coming to check on him. For effect Dean yanked on the cuffs making his bed rail rattle. "Bastard, I can hear you, I know you can hear me."

"Fine. Yes. I can hear you. So can every other angel in a four hundred dimension radius." Bob appeared, hands on hips, looking plenty annoyed.

Coughing, Dean waved him closer. Bob eyed him suspiciously, but stepped closer when Dean mumbled, shook his head and grasped his throat. Leaning in, Bob put his ear closer to Dean's mouth.

Resisting the urge to snicker, Dean's hand shot out and he fisted Bob's shirt collar and shook—hard. "Get me out of here and to my brother and do it now!" Jerking down he toppled Bob over the railing and yanked again on his shirt, making him gag.

"Argh…gah…Dnnn…" Bob got both hands on the bed and pushed away, breaking Dean's grip. He straightened and pulled down on his shirt, adjusting it. "You two are hard on clothes."

Dean wiggled around on the bed until he slid down far enough he could reach his cuffed arm and started to bite at his skin. "I swear I'll do it."

"Oh, for pete's sake stop that." Bob got two fingers under Dean's chin and pushed him back, pulling his hand away fast when Dean snapped at him.

"Sam is out there, alone. He saw a dam bursting and people getting killed and took off to try and stop it. I have to get him. I can't…" his words faded away. Tugging on the handcuff again, Dean glared at Bob. He burped and rolled to his side, folding in on himself.

"I know where Sam is. Dean, you're sick. You have a bleeding ulcer and need it cared for. You sure won't do your brother a lot of good like this."

"Bob, please."

"Dean, I—"

"Take me to him. Now." Dean panted away the sharp burn searing through his middle.

"You're too sick."

"Then fix me. It's _Sam_ out there. If I don't get to him I don't think he's coming back."

"You should have more faith in your brother."

"I have plenty of faith in my brother. It's the rest of the world I don't trust. Bob, I _need_ to get there. He's my brother."

Sighing Bob nodded. He touched the handcuffs and they dropped away. "I don't know how to cure you. I'm sorry, I flunked anatomy. But, I'll try." He gently laid one hand on Dean's forehead and drew in a deep breath. "I can probably do something temporary, but afterwards you'll have to let the doctors do their job."

Dean gritted his teeth and nodded. He felt a tingle then a warmth surged through him replacing the sting and burn his stomach had become. He took a few deep breaths and sat up straighter. Rubbing one hand over his solar plexus he swung his legs over the edge of the bed, nodding. "So far, so good." Sliding off the bed, his bare feet hit the cold floor and Dean looked down. "Gimme a second to change."

He sprinted across the room to the closet his clothes were in and then ducked into the bathroom, out a few minutes later fully dressed. "Let's get a move on."

Bob simply nodded once, took Dean's arm in one hand and said, "okay, but I'm not going to be responsible when Sam becomes angry. Hold your breath."

When Dean shut his eyes he was in a hospital room. The next sensation to hit him was a collection of roars coming from everywhere, people screaming, someone demanding the riverbank be cleared via a bullhorn and what sounded like a huge faucet gone berserk and the sound of metal being ripped apart. He opened his eyes to find himself standing on the edge of the river, though it was deeper and faster than earlier, much wider, too.

The oddest noise was what sounded to Dean like a fan whirring through the air. One look up and he couldn't help grinning. Three helicopters flew in a triangle formation just yards off the ground. Some people were dropping out of them and heading toward the crowd, ushering them away. One guy was leaning out of the lead helicopter, bullhorn in hand, telling everyone to clear out.

Uh, yeah, duh.

He caught a glimpse of Sam, clinging to a mangled bridge. A mangled and moving bridge. Shouting to his brother, Dean ran at the water. The bridge tipped, looking like a ship upending into the ocean and with a loud bone chilling snap twisted to one side and dropped. Sam's terrified gaze met his for one brief instant before the water hit him and flowed over him, plunging him into the murky, churning, flooded river.

Dean charged forward, splashing into the shallow water near the edge, then wading deeper. He saw Sam flailing helplessly against the current, popping up only to be dragged down and washed further away. Swinging around when something grabbed his shoulder and pulled, Dean came face to face with Bob. It was too loud to talk, but Dean got the message. Bob pointed to the mangled bridge.

The words _use_ _it_ came across loud and clear followed by _believe in yourself and what you can do_.

Staring at him for no more than a few seconds, Dean nodded, took a deep breath and moved steadily toward the remains of the bridge. It was only loose at one end, the other still firmly embedded in the ground now under water. He got to it and climbed out on top of it then began rocking back and forth. The shifting of his weight shifted the bridge and bent it so it was now going with the flow of water, not blocking it.

Feet planted wide, hands gripping the girders, Dean rocked with more force. The bridge let loose entirely and sailed downstream, right behind Sam. It was nearly impossible to see with dirty water being sprayed up, but somehow Dean managed to catch glimpses of his brother. He was no longer trying to swim out of the raging river, but being tossed and thrown like debris.

If Sam wasn't completely unconscious he was damn close.

Leaning forward made the bridge move along faster until he was finally within grasping distance of Sam's leg. Hooking one arm and one knee around a girder, Dean reached out and gripped Sam's jeans, pulling him in. Making sure he had a good grip on the bridge with his leg, Dean threw his other hand at Sam, latching onto his belt.

Gritting his teeth and grunting Dean pulled back and hauled his kid brother up, getting one arm around his chest, Dean shoved himself backwards and used his other hand to hang onto the bridge again and ease them both onto it.

"Sammy," Dean whispered, tapping lightly on his brother's cheek. "Come on, dude, breathe or hit me or something." Sam coughed and lurched to one side, vomiting water in huge retching spasms that made Dean's ribs hurt. "I'll take that." He maneuvered Sam up farther and held him tightly against his own body.

Bob was on the ground waving both hands with thumbs up in the air. Dean waved back. The bridge took a sharp left and careened toward the shoreline. Dean curled around his brother, hanging on tightly to Sam and the girders until the bridge came to a stop. It'd gone from the water to the ground far too rapidly, nearly knocking Dean off his feet and them to the ground. How he'd managed to hang on to it and Sam was beyond him, and honestly, he didn't care. The important thing was he and Sam were alive and mostly well.

-0-

Bob should have known better, he really should have. He was a thousands-of-years-old entity and a holy one at that. Yet, apparently he was dumber than dirt some days.

Whatever possessed him—that was it, he could blame it on some demon—to sit in a hospital room with these two…two…Bob wasn't sure anymore what they were. Well, yes, he actually was. They were annoying is what they were. To borrow a very human and very accurate phrase, they were annoying as Hell. Bob was pretty sure Hell was a darned annoying place what with demons poking at souls all the time.

By the time they'd gotten back to the hospital Dean was bent over, moaning and groaning like a drunken prom date and walking and spitting like an old bum. Sam was clinging to him, not that the kid had much choice since Dean wouldn't let go, and every few minutes he'd urp up more river water. It'd gotten to the point that Bob wondered how there was any left _outside_ of Sam to cause a flood.

Actually, the entire thing was disgusting.

The fracas that ensued when the hospital staff tried to take Sam for x-rays and treatment so he didn't develop complications from having his lungs full of water and others tried to get Dean into surgery before his insides exploded was entertainment beyond words. Before Bob intervened and calmed everyone down with his awesome angelness there had been two downed orderlies—one from Dean, one because of Sam—three broken gurneys—that was all Dean's doing, Sam was innocent—an over turned blood collection cart—Sam—and one hospital guard put through a glass door. Bob wasn't actually sure which brother did that, but he suspected one of the gurneys was broken in the process of the guard being tossed out of the room. So it would have been on Dean's score card.

It was good to be an angel and put right what went wrong. Or at least keep two ornery young hunters from ending up on their asses in jail.

He deftly sidestepped the green shimmering mass in the cup that came at him. Sam called it jello. Bob had to go with Dean on this one; it was gross.

"Dude, your bed is right there, two feet farther from my bed than that damn chair. You can't rest up and get well sitting in this stupid, plastic torture device." Dean snapped out, waving two fingers at the other bed in the room.

Sam's face morphed into what Bob had come to learn was referred to by Dean as the supreme Sammy bitch-face. The title was accurate. Bob wondered why he was still sitting here with these two. They weren't very good company right now. In fact he doubted either one realized he existed at the moment.

"You almost died. I'm not going anywhere," Sam ground out, his last words contorted into a wet, hacking cough. "Eat your jello, don't throw it."

"Eat your oatmeal." Dean shot back. When Sam lifted the spoon out of the pasty looking stuff in a bowl and let it glop back down they all burped. "Okay, maybe not," Dean conceded, "that's just nasty." He pushed farther up until he was sitting. "Sam, now, get in your bed and rest. You can still die from all that water you sucked down."

"'m not dyin'," Sam groused and shifted the chair closer to Dean's bed. "And 'm not leavin' either."

Dean sighed and looked over at Bob who shrugged. "Hey, would you do me a favor and move his bed closer?"

Bob was apparently a sap on top of being dumber than dirt. He nodded and shoved the bed until it came to rest against Sam's chair. Sam glared at them both, Bob wasn't entirely sure he didn't bare his teeth, too. However, he did abandon the chair, letting Bob move it to the other side of the room, and climb into the bed.

"What happened to that man in the jeep with me?" Sam finally asked.

Bob's gaze met Dean's, they both knew the subject would come up, but they were both hoping it wouldn't be so soon. "I'm sorry, Sam, he was welcomed into the light."

Sam looked down and picked at the sheet over his legs.

"Everyone else was fine though." Dean leaned over the side of his bed and reached across the empty space between them to slap at Sam's arm. The simple gesture seemed to relax Sam. "How did you convince him the dam was going to go?"

"Oh, I…um—"

"He told the man he was a prophet of the Lord," Bob piped up. The bitch-face got bitchier.

Dean laughed uproariously. "You big dork!"

"You know that doctor said you had to stay calm until you healed or you'd get sick again." Sam folded his arms over his chest, stared straight ahead and looked for all the world like a petulant toddler.

"Did you do your breathing therapy? The same doctor said you had to do it every two hours." Dean was obviously oblivious to the giant toddler, or maybe not, Bob couldn't decide. Either way it was a battle neither would win and neither would lose.

"I will when you learn to eat what you're supposed to," Sam shot back.

"I'll tell on you to her. I remember how much you two loved each other. I'll do it, Sam." Dean settled back against the pillows, grinning.

Sam blew out a long breath and grabbed a piece of tubing sitting beside his bed, blasting air into it and sucking it back out again with a vengeance. When Dean chuckled, Sam did it again, only louder.

Bob rubbed the back of his neck and backed away and began fading from this plane. Their bickering lingered, Sam complaining because Dean wouldn't do what he was told to get better and Dean snapping and groaning that Sam wouldn't listen to the doctors.

Yep, Bob must be dumber than dirt. The fate of this world was on _them_. One guy who was forced to eat green snot from a bowl and the other who couldn't say two words without hacking up muddy water? Both too concerned with the other one to take care of himself. Yet, somehow he felt at ease that it was the right decision. Only time would tell.

THE END


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